


One and Two are One

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, F/F, Kink Meme, Self-cest, Time Turner (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: Once she is given the Time-Turner, Hermione is able to last about two weeks without thinking about a certain way that an irresponsible sort of person might use it, if one were so inclined.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Hermione Granger
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149
Collections: The Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2019





	One and Two are One

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous prompter on the [Annual Femslash Kink Meme](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/27607.html).

Once she is given the Time-Turner, Hermione is able to last about two weeks without thinking about a certain way that an irresponsible sort of person might use it, if one were so inclined.

Well, really, she thinks about it nearly right away. But for that first fortnight, she mostly succeeds at quickly jerking her mind away from the idea when it threatens to creep up on the edges of her consciousness. She tries to shame herself into not thinking about it by picturing Professor McGonagall's stern face instead, looking pointedly down over her glasses whilst telling Hermione that the Time-Turner is to be used for attending extra classes _only_ , and that misuse of it could be catastrophically dangerous.

Lying in bed, unable to sleep, Hermione fiddles with the Time-Turner's golden chain. Its delicate bumps slide between her fingertips, and she shivers at the sensation; she's found that she begins to feel curiously sensitive all over when she's gone for a while without masturbating. She tries not to do it at school, where she's never really alone. If she stays still and listens, she can hear the deep breathing of her dorm mates just across the room.

At the grand age of thirteen, she's known about masturbation for over a year already. An old paperback on the top shelf of the bookcase in her parents' bedroom was the key to those mysteries — standing on tiptoe on a chair to reach it while her parents were out, her heart pounding as she raced to absorb the knowledge from its pages before putting it back exactly as it was — so she knows all the proper names for her private parts, and how to touch them in those ways that bring on the exquisite feeling known as _orgasm_.

It was almost frightening at first, this overwhelmingly delicious thing she could make her body do. But after a while, it began to feel normal. Just as it's begun to feel normal to travel back in time on a daily basis, to catch a glimpse of herself disappearing round a corner on her way to another class. No different than turning a match into a needle, or making feathers float, or any number of other things that not so long ago were impossible magic.

But the book taught her more than just what she can do by herself. Some of it sounded odd and uncomfortable... but there was one section she found herself returning to over and over again, until she nearly had it memorised. She has never said the word out loud, but she's consulted the dictionary and sounded it out in her mind, like a powerful incantation: _Cunnilingus_.

She runs her tongue softly along her upper lip — ah, so sensitive there, too. What could it possibly feel like to be licked in a spot where just the stroke of a finger sends her soaring? Careful and quiet, she slips her hand into her knickers and finds herself already wet. She bites back a groan. She can't wait any longer, can't take another sleepless, yearning night. All she'll need is a few minutes of rubbing, of trying to imagine what it would feel like to have someone lying between her spread thighs, kissing, licking...

In her other hand, she is still loosely cradling the Time-Turner. It glows faintly white against her skin and her sheets. It always glows, but one can't see it except in darkness.

She softly strokes herself, feeling her inner muscles clench with delayed desire. And those thoughts she's tried so hard to avoid begin to sneak in. They take form and solidify, refusing to be ignored.

She has to admit there is a certain satisfying logic to it: Professor McGonagall lent Hermione the Time-Turner because she's trustworthy. Smart. Responsible. If a witch of such stature has that level of confidence in her, surely it can't be misguided to place the same trust in herself. Surely she can handle the responsibility of using the Time-Turner... creatively... without risk to the integrity of time.

It wouldn't be that difficult, she thinks, feeling the blunt metal edges of the Time-Turner as she squeezes it in her left hand, and the soft wetness of herself under her right. She's used it so many times before, and never been caught once. All she'll have to do is give it just one turn — an hour should be more than enough — and sneak into her own bed. Once there, who would know anything was amiss? The other girls wouldn't wake up. She'd be quiet enough.

In the distance, she hears the echo, carried on the wind, of the Hogsmeade clock tower striking one. Has she really lain awake so long?

Resolution overtakes her. She sits up, brings her right hand reluctantly away from her aching sex and over to the Time-Turner. The moisture on her fingertips glistens in its faint light. And she touches it, ready to turn.

But before she quite can, the distinct sound of a footfall on the dorm room floor brings her up short. Tense, frozen, she strains to listen. Has one of the other girls heard her? How?

Another step, closer still. The curtain at the end of her bed rustles. She fumbles to put the Time-Turner away, back in its case, to somehow manage to pretend to be asleep.

The curtain opens, and the face that peeks in on her is not Parvati's, nor Lavender's.

It is her own.

Reality seems to bend around her. This is entirely different from seeing just a glimpse of the back of her robes, different from seeing herself in a mirror or even in a moving photograph. She is undeniably looking at a real person, who thinks and feels and returns her gaze, and happens to also be herself. Hermione stares, slack-jawed, and her other self looks back with a tilt of her head and a cheeky little smile.

The gears turn feverishly in her mind, and click into place. Of course! In the future, she's already done it — come back here to meet herself at this moment when she's decided she dares to chance it. It has happened. It is happening. It will happen.

The other Hermione, from two o'clock in the morning, slips quietly into the bed and shuts the curtain, and the Hermione from one o'clock in the morning realises with a frisson that her other self is already naked, but for her own Time-Turner dangling down on the chain around her neck. Its gentle slight swings back and forth as she moves, softly illuminating her pale skin.

One O'Clock scoots back to give her space, and for a moment they just sit there peering at each other. One O'Clock's pulse is racing, but Two O'Clock looks calm and self-assured. With a sense of her brain gradually untangling itself, One puts together the thought that if Two isn't nervous, that means this is going to go well. Still, it's hard to know how to start. Should she say something? What? They both know why they're here.

As though reading her thoughts — or rather, as though having had the same thoughts before — Two places a finger of secrecy to her curved lips, and makes the first move. Wordlessly she reaches out and gives One's nightshirt a tug, encouraging her to lift her arms, and deftly pulls it up over her head and off. One's hands are trembling and her breathing is shallow as she brings up her legs and wriggles out of her knickers under Two's approving up-and-down gaze. She's never been looked at like that before. As though she's nice to look at.

They're both naked now, but One finds herself holding her thighs together, still uncertain, despite the renewed ache between them. She wants this, but something inside her resists, makes her hesitant to take the final step, inevitable as it may be. A twinge of guilt: It's wrong to let someone see her like this, to _do_ things to her when she's so young, isn't it? No matter how badly she wants it? But as she gazes into her own eyes, another vertiginous mental twist prompts a better question: If it's wrong to let _herself_ do this, then what else in the world could ever be right?

A close-lipped smile spreads into a broad grin across Two's face, and One finds herself smiling back sheepishly, shyly, feeling a flutter in her belly like an incipient crush. She thinks she understands now how Narcissus might have felt on seeing his reflection.

Leaning back onto her pillows, One spreads her legs slowly apart, and sees Two's face — her own face — light up in recognition at what she sees there, like happiness at meeting a dear friend.

Two slides down slowly and settles between One's thighs. Gives her a minute to breathe. One's heart is pounding in her chest, though she knows there is nothing to fear.

Is she losing her virginity as Two places a gentle kiss at the bottom of her vulva, just at the tender spot where her labia meet? Can you lose your virginity to yourself? The question blanks out of One's mind before she can ponder it, because now Two's tongue is drawing softly upward, and the wave of pleasure that floods her body has her clasping her hands hard over her mouth to stifle her cries.

She was already so wet before, so needy, and now the adrenaline of realising that _this_ is happening combines and intertwines and lifts her desire to a dizzying new height. Two is lapping softly at her lips, just _exactly_ where and how she's always wished, and the reality of it is far beyond her childish fantasies. Her back arches and she trembles in desperate silence as Two explores all the hidden sensitivities of her folds, the secret spots her own fingers have toyed with a hundred times, now laid bare and fully known, fully exposed to a pleasure like technicolor rainbows where she's only felt in black-and-white before.

She wants to squirm, to buck her hips hard, but that might make the bed creak and awaken the other girls, and more importantly it would move her away from contact with Two's glorious, all-knowing tongue. More than anything, she wants to feel everything that tongue has to give, to concentrate on it, memorise it. Her fists grip the sheets, her back and thighs tense, and when Two licks just a little harder down between her outer and inner lips, a deep, uncontrollable shudder runs through her from head to toe.

And then the teasing: The lightest touch, tracing around her clitoris, never quite touching it. She's tried to do this by herself so many times, to draw it out, to make herself wait... but once she starts, she can never manage to keep her fingers away, to deny herself the deep satisfaction of firm pressure right on that sweetest spot. But now she lies helpless in Two's hands — in her own hands — twisting in the wind as the soft tease goes on and on.

And running like a current beneath the rising pleasure, she feels something else building within her, something strange and new. She feels... a curious tranquility in the knowledge that she is in good hands, that she doesn't have to be in charge. Neither needing to decide when or how to stimulate herself, nor having to depend on someone else who might not live up to her standards. With herself, she feels safe.

Two's tongue circles ever inward, and at last slips down just to the side of One's achingly eager clitoris, giving it a gentle wiggle, exactly as she does with her fingers when she masturbates.

"Ah—" One barely holds back the cry, her toes curling. She blows out a series of short breaths, struggling for control, dragging harder at the sheets. "Please," she whispers, the hiss of it just barely audible. "Oh please, I can't stand it, please..." She feels like she's in the grip of some dizzy dream, both in her ecstasy and in the strange madness of genuinely begging _herself_ for release.

Two pulls back for a moment, and One feels a warm puff of air at her voiceless laugh. Two's hands travel up the backs of her legs — One jerks at that touch on a ticklish spot — and cup One's buttocks in her palms. One has caressed herself there before, and she can tell these are her own hands, only turned backwards.

And then all thought is driven from her mind again as Two's tongue travels wetly up between her lips and finally, _finally_ over her clitoris.

She grits her teeth to keep quiet, but can no longer stop herself from moving. She bucks, thrusting up into Two's heavenly strokes that shoot like lightning through her ready body. She reaches down to guide her head, her fingers twining into her own bushy hair.

As she nears her orgasm, Two knows to go a little harder, to apply just the right pressure to satisfy her after all the teasing and waiting, without being too rough on this most exquisitely tender spot. It's perfect, so perfect, and for the first time her climax erupts somewhere other than in her own hand, carried along helplessly on a cresting wave, and voiceless breaths come like sobs from her throat as she crashes to the shore.

As One is coming down, her chest still heaving and her blood pounding in her ears, Two plants soft kisses on her inner thigh. And then moving up, on her hip, her stomach, her budding breasts. Their arms slide round each other. They fit together like puzzle pieces as One embraces the mirrored yet familiar shape of her own body, feels the softness of her own skin.

The glow of the Time-Turner is muted as it lies in the sheets between them. One senses more than sees Two's face coming right up close to hers, feels the tiny tickle of her breath, and then tastes the salt on Two's lips as they come together.

She flashes on the memory of kissing the cold glass of the mirror when she was little, until her mum scolded her for making smudges. This is nothing like that, of course. Her mouth feels more sensitive than ever as she and her other self exchange tender kisses, making soft little sounds as their lips meet and part. She squeezes her thighs together, feeling the wetness there and an aftershock of pleasure. If this were anyone else, it would be embarrassing, she thinks — cuddling naked together, tasting her own orgasm in a kiss. But how can she be embarrassed when there is no one here but herself? She feels like she could stay like this forever, cradled in her own arms, feeling her own body heat doubled.

All too soon, though, the distant clock strikes two. Identical pairs of eyes meet. Both Hermiones know what comes next.

After stealing a last, lingering kiss, One rises to her knees and finds her own Time-Turner, settles it round her neck. She leaves Two lying on the bed, smiling angelically, her hair spread out over the pillow. Seeing her face and her body this way, One realises for the first time that she isn't ugly, after all.

She slips silently just outside the bed curtains, a cheeky smile curling her lips. She twists the Time-Turner back one hour, ready now to play the other side of the mirror, to lavish herself with teasing, pleasure, and love.


End file.
